


Dirty Little Secret

by smallerontheoutside (theinvisiblequestion)



Series: Playlist [7]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisiblequestion/pseuds/smallerontheoutside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy pays Clarke a surprise visit.</p><p>(Inspired by All-American Rejects' song of the same name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Little Secret

Octavia barges into his apartment like she always does, making herself right at home. “Going somewhere?” she asks, nodding to the shirts spilling out of the backpack on top of his dresser.

“Uh. I don’t know. Maybe.”

Octavia cocks her head at him. “Aww, are you gonna take Clarke on a day trip?”

“No. She’s out of town.” Bellamy glances at the phone on his nightstand. _Work stuff_ stares back at him. She thinks he doesn’t know what she does for a living, but he’s not above a bit of internet searching, and she wasn’t _that_ hard to find. Not many women in the area are named _Clarke_ , and he found her Facebook fan page easily enough. _Work stuff_ meant _filming on-location_ meant _out of town for a while_. Luckily, some of his co-workers did side projects with the local B-list and indie film scene, and that’s how he found out she was a six hour drive away in pretty much the middle of nowhere.

“Surprise visit?”

Bellamy shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t want to interrupt. It’s a work thing.”

Octavia snorts. “I’ll tell Lincoln you’re skipping the jam session.” She pulls out her phone and starts texting away, sinking deeper into the beanbag.

Bellamy wrangles the stuff on his bed into his backpack, folding and cramming until the zipper closes. He takes his guitar, too—just to pass the time in case Clarke is busy—and walks out to the street with Octavia.

“Text me when you get wherever you’re going,” she says, and walks off down the street. Bellamy waves after her, but she’s got her nose in her phone again. He digs his keys out of his pocket as he walks the half block to his truck, drops his phone in the cup holder, throws his backpack and his guitar in the passenger seat, and drives.

* * *

It takes seven hours instead of six to get to where he’s going, an hour of which is spent on the side of the road and under the hood of his truck, but when he gets there, the film crew’s not hard to find. The town—intersection, really—is made up of a few houses, a diner, and the one-stop next door, so the crush of trailers and buses and mack trucks pretty much screams “not from around here.”

Now that he’s out here, though, he doesn’t really know what to do, and he’s starving, so he parks in front of the diner and gets himself a table. He’s just paid the bill and is finishing the last of his coffee when Clarke walks in. She’s not alone; her gimpy friend with the surprisingly good dance moves is with her. He ducks his head instinctively, and then realizes she’s the reason he’s here, so why is he hiding?

When she sees him, he knows exactly why. She is all fire and rage and it’s all he can do to keep from turning into a helpless pile of shit right away. Clarke sits in the booth across from him. Her friend takes a seat at the bar, a smartass grin on her face. “Bellamy, what the _hell_ are you doing here?”

He realizes that’s she’s actually pissed, and she’s actually pissed _at him_ , which is something new. He smiles, embarrassed, and says, “Surprise?”

“This isn’t a joke!”

“I never said it was!”

“You _can’t_ be here.”

“It’s a free country, last time I checked.”

“No, you don’t understand. I’m at _work_.”

She’s avoiding him. He’s sitting right in front of her and she’s _avoiding him_. He huffs a little laugh and walks out of the diner. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. He fumbles with his keys, trying to get the right key in the ignition— _can’t drive with the apartment key, stupid_ —but before he can get the truck to start, Clarke’s banging on his window. He cranks it down.

“Bellamy. Wait.”

“Make up your mind, princess.”

She sighs. “Everyone here knows me, knows my mom—the crew, the director, half the cast—and if they see you here, with me, then it’s going to get back to my mom.”

Bellamy just stares at her. He’d assumed the people in her life knew about him—or at least that she was seeing _someone_ —but he realizes now that she’s been keeping him a secret.

“Look, just—“ She steps up on the rail and gives him a quick kiss. “Go home, okay? I’ll text you when I can get away from the crew for a while.”

Bellamy’s jaw clenches and he turns the key in the ignition once, twice, three times before it starts and he can drive away down the dark, empty highway.

This time, it’s Clarke who sends a dozen or two text messages in a row with no reply.


End file.
